


Piołunówka

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Collations [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a reason to continue feigning that he was on an even keel. He needed to just keep focused on small things, on, on things he could keep under his control, and suddenly his wrist hurt. Binding compression, fingers squeezing, and those strange sherry-dark eyes were tight on his face, concentrating.</p><p>"And Monday," Hannibal finally murmured, "you will come home with me. And we will see what we can do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piołunówka

Jack Crawford was going to fucking kill him one day. He was going to, he was going to finally see more than he could handle, and it was possible that he'd already done it because everything was right there where he could see it, everything. He'd seen, _seen_ , their killer, and their victims, and their victim's victims, and their tormentor's, and Jack's cloying thick grief and Bev's previous night, and Jimmy's quiet night in, and Zeller's brofest, and the car, the back wheel of his car wasn't doing anything so it was as good a place to catch his breath and his mind again, and ignore the feathery soft threat that was snuffling at his knee.

It wasn't happening.

Wasn't, wasn't, there was nothing there, there was, it wasn't. Happening.

There was nothing, just him, just him and the car and the tire, and that was it. That was all.

Oh, god, it wasn't all. It was nothing like all, it was maddening and he could only shudder and shake as things warped and changed around him.

The stag was in front of him, warm hot blooded nose against his jeans and behind that were the bodies, the last scene, hung from the ceiling like birds descending, like Christmas tree toppers, something glorious and spreading, creative use of fabric, and not religious, no, this was a different flavor of fanatic, but Will had seen him and everything, everyone, Jack, and memories of Jack's first kill, stories he'd told Will to comfort him except Will knew that Jack had stood over the man, changed the angle of his gun with careful consideration, and fired, because he was a murderer and a rapist and there wasn't enough evidence to put him away for long enough that it'd count. And the Stag, the great king, herded him in closer against his own car, with his eyes closed so tight they felt like they were bleeding.

He couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't make sense of the things going on around him. Nothing, he couldn't. He just... he couldn't.

The conversation going on around him flowed and ebbed and came back again, and he could hear Beverly. He was sure.

"….just don't think...."

"...doesn't..."

"...should call..."

He started to shake his head, but concentrating on words, focusing enough to say words and do more than wave a hand at them was hard. He just needed to focus down, he could do that. He had breathing exercises and memory games, and and, things he couldn't think to do just then.

Things he couldn't focus enough to do. Things. Just.. things, and the sharp sting of a needle prick made his head jerk up in reaction.

He could see Jack, standing at enough of a distance, past the paramedics who were crowding in on him, crushing into his senses. "Jack, you..." Not drugs, no, he'd done hospitals before, he didn't *like* hospitals, he just needed space, he needed to get himself back together, he...

* * *

Cold.

He was cold, and everything smelled like medicine, and he felt.. thick. Slow and thick and incapable of thought.

He knew where he was almost immediately; up at Bethesda again, because they didn't seem to believe in providing people decent blankets. It echoed around in his brain for a while, and he let it settle, drifted with it in distaste and a hint of anger before he surfaced again, a little less thick than he'd been before, but not far off. Will got his eyes open, blinked a couple of times.

"Will? Are you actually with me this time?"

Alana seemed concerned. No small wonder, Will supposed. He was a little concerned himself. "Mmmhm. Might be." His voice sounded thick, but he could talk, which he hadn't been able to do hiding at the back wheel of his car. Alana's face seemed to relax a little, though because he was responding or whether it was social veiling was hard to guess.

"I'm glad to hear it. You were out of it for a little while." Encouraging, just a little uncertain. She was thinking... thinking he didn't know what, which probably meant that the drugs were excellent. The only person in his head was himself, and god, but that was good.

"Got... a _little_ overwhelmed at the scene." He managed to stress the word like he meant to, sarcasm and a smile that might not look right but felt close enough. "Sorry."

The shake of her head said that she knew he wasn't all together. "A little is something of an understatement. You've been in and out for a couple of days."

"I've never reacted well to the, what was it? Haloperidol?" He rubbed fingers over his eyes, and tried to clear away some of the fog that clung to him like spiderwebs.

"Stick with what works, I guess." She didn't seem to like it that much. Well, Will didn't like it, either. "Hannibal and I have been staying with you. Just in case you woke up and... well."

He felt guilty about that, because that had kept them from their actual lives, Hannibal's practice and Alana's research. "You didn't have to. But I appreciate it." Even if he hadn't noticed.

"Of course we had to. Well. Maybe we didn't _have_ to, but... you're my friend, Will. I wanted to stay." She paused, and he could tell that she was considering how to phrase something delicately. "Jack had a lot to say about you and Hannibal."

"What particularly did he have to say?" Will let it sit there, as if he were innocent or uninformed, because if Jack was bad mouthing when he was unconscious, that would be the completely unfiltered version of things.

Yeah, he didn't have to look at her to know exactly what Jack had to say about... well. Pretty much everything ever. "Jack was... Jack. You know how he is." Yeah. He knew exactly how Jack was. "But Hannibal told him to stuff it. More or less. In his Hannibal way."

"Mmm. It's none of Jack's business." He wasn't so quick to dismiss Alana's opinion, because she was more of a friend than a boss and a colleague, which made it easier to draw lines.

"Well. There are a lot of things that Jack would like to think of as his business. Your personal life shouldn't be part of that." Alana shrugged. "Jack... Jack is Jack, you know that. Besides," she continued, "I'm more worried about you. Tell me, Will. Just.. talk to me."

"I... was overloaded by the scene. I was, I was putting together pieces to so, so many things, and I couldn't stop." And, there was the stag, but the stag was a threat and a comfort. It was a constant, and he just. He couldn't. Couldn't say anything about it, because then they would leave him in Bethesda and he just. Couldn't.

He couldn't.

"I think you need a vacation, Will. I think.. I think you need to tell Jack to go fuck himself." Yeah. If anybody could do that, they'd all be in clover. Or something like that. "But I know that you won't."

"I need to take a break for a while. Did you finish out that last class?" His students probably didn't miss him. They hardly knew him after that last year. 

There were final papers he needed to grade.

She nodded and moved to sit closer to him. "Yes. I even graded their papers, which might have thrown them off a little. I brought them for you to look over, just in case you wanted something to do."

"No, you were probably more lenient than I was and it's too late to bleed all over them." He scrubbed fingers over his face, tilting a look at her. "Is the case still open?"

"That... is something I don't think we need to talk about." Which meant that it probably was, and he really didn't need to think about it. In the least.

He just wasn't sure he could continue not thinking about it, knowing the guy was out there, knowing... He pressed fingers tight to the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. "Sure. Sure. I uh. Do you know when I can go?"

"No." No, and that wasn't a good sign. "You'll need to talk to the resident before that can be determined. Of course..." That little smile was so nice to see. "I think Hannibal might have already had a word or two with her."

"I've never been happier that we clearly have problems with ethics." He shifted, leaned back against the pillows to watch Alana. If Hannibal had been at the scene when it had happened, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been put in the hospital. There'd have to be discussions with the resident, of course, but. Will knew enough to navigate that. "Have I missed anything not related to the case?"

That dimpled smile was never going to fail in making him feel better. "Well. You did miss the season finale of that medical show you like. Apparently, there was an explosion. Or, you know, maybe it was a storm. Or come to think of it...."

Like he even watched any kind of medical show, but it did make him feel better even if everything for the past couple of days had related to the case. Will shook his hand out, and considered trying to get to his feet and test standing up, even if his mind felt fogged down. The fog was a relief to the hyper sensitivity, to knowing _everything_. That moment with Jack had been... curious, something he remembered and wanted to pull at but also didn't. He was grateful he hadn't turned it on Alana or Hannibal when he was that out of control. "You realize I don't actually have a TV, right?"

The way she laughed was warm and husky and completely perfect. "Maybe you should."

Yeah. Maybe he should, but he liked his peace and quiet. He liked his dogs, and his hobbies, liked keeping busy with his hands. It kept him from worrying too much about what was in his head.

Yeah. Maybe he should, but he liked his peace and quiet. He liked his dogs, and his hobbies, liked keeping busy with his hands. It kept him from worrying too much about what was in his head. "Maybe I'll take a day or two and go fishing instead." See if the damn Stag tried to get in a boat with him, or if it'd just stand on the shoreline and try to bait him.

He caught the nip of her teeth into her lower lip. "Do you think that will help you?"

"Well, or I'll have some horrible accident with a lure," Will deadpanned. "Which would at least make for a funny story to tell at my funeral."

"That isn't what I would call reassuring," Alana murmured.

"I was trying for a joke." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'll get released and I won't do... Cases for a while. It's isn't the first time." Unfortunately.

If Jack kept reeling him back in, it wouldn't be the last.

"I know it's none of my business, but... Will. Maybe you shouldn't go back into the field."

"Maybe." He hitched up a shoulder. "When I can stay in my own head, it's remarkable."

"I'm pretty fond of you when you're in your own head." She smiled at him. "So. I'm going to go and talk to the nurses and get someone in to talk to you. Maybe get things moving."

"Thanks." He wasn't sure if asking about Hannibal just then would be helpful, or a strike against him, so he didn't. Hannibal would be back, and Jack had probably told anyone with a pulse of his displeasure, but really. It was his fault in the first place.

"I'll be right back," Alana promised, tucking her book neatly away in her bag as she stood. "And Will? It's good to see you awake."

"Thanks." He could wait list, think. He could loiter and let his mind drift on the drugs, because he couldn't focus long enough to gather up a handful of fear.

He must have fallen asleep again, because there was someone else sitting in Alana's chair, someone he didn't recognize. "It's good to see you coming around, Mr. Graham. Dr. Bloom said that you seemed quite a lot better than when you came in."

"Mmm, but I'm still catching up on sleep debt." He rubbed at his eyes, and pushed himself upright a little better.

That seemed to be interesting to the man in the chair. WIll wished he'd at least give him a name, something to call him. "How long have you been having trouble sleeping?"

"Months. Nightmares, sleepwalking." He   pressed fingers against the corners of his eyes. "Hazard of the job."

Crap. He hated that expression, the one he could make out from beneath his lashes. "Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"I have." He let his eyes wander, and stretched his hands carefully on his lap.

"Mmm." He hated it when they made sounds like that, all interested and stupid. It made him want to get up and hit something. Mostly the ass making that sound. "And who did you talk about it with? Your therapist, your doctor?"

Cointoss on how that was going to go. "Both Dr. Bloom and Dr. Lecter." It was possible that a fifty-fifty split would negate any risk associated with either.

"Hmm." This. This was the reason that he hated therapy. Ugh. "And were you following their recommendations? Do you think that perhaps the lack of sleep might have contributed to this episode?"

"I was emotionally overwhelmed by a, a crime scene where I was attempting to think like a murderer who'd strung a family up from the rafters. It, it..." Will shook his head a little, trying not to grimace. "It's a horrible feeling."

Another of those hums, and Will could feel himself shifting, brain clicking over, and god. God, he needed to leave here. He needed time to himself, just to, to get his head clear. He needed time to himself, a week, three. A month, he had no idea. "So, I think we might do best by you if you stay a few more days, Mr. Graham."

"I want to go home. I have a good environment there, a very safe, careful environment." Alana had said something to the man, he knew it.

A clearing of the throat sounded, and the man fidgeted with his glasses for a moment. "And yet you've been suffering from insomnia and walking in your sleep. Perhaps if you had someone to stay with you, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay alone."

Half of what he needed to do just then was to not-reaction, and not letting things show. "I wouldn't be staying alone. I'm... mostly sure Dr. Lecter would be willing to many an arrangement with some of my other colleagues. You'd have to confirm." It was entirely possible he could just put his dogs in a kennel, and ask if the man would let him sleep on his porch, metaphorically.

Strangely enough, he could imagine just that all too easily.

"Hmmm. Maybe in a day or two. Long enough to make other arrangements, yes?" No. No, no, no.

"I'm no longer in crisis," Will countered calmly, staying focused, not letting himself react, "And I believe if I'm allowed to make a few phone calls, suitable arrangements can be made today."

It was clear from the expression of that face that he didn't believe it. "I'll allow the calls, but let's go with you staying another day or two, just to be on the safe side."

He wasn't going to agree to that, because all he could imagine was Chilton, and that damn hospital. "How about I make that call first, then we discuss the other."

"Bargaining isn't exactly on the table. Dr. Bloom is a nice woman, but you don't have a therapist and you have been a danger to yourself." That smile was so sickeningly sympathetic that Will wanted to hit something. "Another day or two. Then we'll see."

He didn't have a therapist, he had a conflict of interest that Jack had probably made let be known to anyone with ears, and never mind how damaging that had probably been. Will rubbed at the back of his neck, studying the weft of the fabric. "And Dr. Lecter?"

"We'll see." Which was asshole therapist talk for no. "At the very least, I can promise you that we do have visitation every weekend from ten until two." Whoa. No, no, that was... No.

He grimaced, knew he was grimacing. "I don't do well with quiet and boredom, doctor. This is... a very bad idea."

"It's Friday. Just.. stay with us for a couple more days, and then we'll see how you are Monday morning. If you do well over the weekend, then I would not object to you going home with either Dr. Lecter or Dr. Bloom." But not by himself.

He felt his mouth compress tightly. "Then I guess I need to use my phone call to request books."

At least that got him a nod. "Of course. I think Dr. Bloom is still down the hall, I asked her to wait. If you'd like to make a list...."

"That's _probably_ a good idea." He was trying to keep his fussing down to a minimum. They were more likely to let him out if he didn't put up a fuss.

"All right then. Um... let's see. Has your drug history changed since the last time you saw us?" Oh. Oh, and he remembered this guy now. Todd something or other, with lots of hemming and hawing.

Christ. Will tilted a look up at the ceiling. "No. You should try introducing yourself to your unfortunate patients. Hello, I'm Will Graham, and you're doctor...?"

"Oh." That was an interesting look of surprise. If for interesting he inserted fucking annoying. "Tim. Tim Bailey, I'm sorry." Yeah.

"Just because you're not used to having lucid patients..." It was no reason to be a dick. He carefully made eye contact with the man. The sheepishness wasn't exactly unexpected.

Bailey cleared his throat. "Ah. If you'll make your list, I'll see if Dr. Bloom is still here."

"Pen and paper, or am I down to crayon already?" Will asked blandly, looking around and seeing nothing at all on hand.

That smile was a little interesting. Only so asinine, he supposed. "Pen and paper shouldn't be any problem. There in the drawer."

"Thanks." He leaned over, slid the drawer open and slowly snagged the pen and pad as Bailey left the room. He needed to focus, and he needed to think in terms of entertainment, reading he'd been meaning to do. Four or five books, and maybe his tape player. He'd been meaning to pick up something else, he didn't know what. CD player, maybe, but then he'd have to buy CDs and yeah. He wasn't prepared to make those kinds of changes just yet.

He was pretty sure his laptop wouldn't be allowed, and he had far too much work stuff on it for it to be useful to him there. Tape player could do, though, and a couple of old histories he'd meant to get around to reading. Will started to make his list, writing carefully.

A couple of days.

It was just going to be a couple of days.

* * *

He was completely bored. Completely completely bored, even with the books Alana had brought -- Hannibal was apparently forging out to his house, and was doing something with the dogs, but she'd darted off and come back with stuff, books, that were less of a drive, and he kind of had to say she had great taste in books. They were all survival in horrible disasters plane crashes and wilderness books, which was about as subtle as a brick to the back of the head, but he was enjoying the reading. It kept him occupied, meant that he didn't have to think about where he was or how his head had gotten so much like Humpty Dumpty inside that it would a miracle if they let him leave come Monday morning. He was managing... Pretty well. Mostly well, except for that one panic attack that he'd triggered off independent of the  world around him, from inside of his own imagination. And the nurses had only seen half of it, so that was a benefit, right?

Sure.

He was re-reading the story, feeling better now, about ship capsize survivors in the ocean, about their turning on each  other, one raping another, and then hungrily drinking seawater. The other survivors in the boat declined to eat his corpse  for a few days, but necessity being what it was, there had been survivors to tell their stories of fear and panic and rising  above it.

Alana really needed to re-judge her book choices. The book with the leadership study on a failed Antarctic expedition was a  lot more uplifting, but mostly made him keep placing Jack into the role of the shamelessly self promoting lead of the  opposing expedition, who'd survived cheerily while all of his chew had died. Maybe she was trying to imply things.

With shipwrecks and cannibalism.  That or he was thinking too deeply, because who didn't when left alone and forced to contemplate one's inner misery?

"Mr. Graham?" The voice over the intercom made him jump. "You have a visitor."

"Thanks. Great." He closed the book, dog earred the pages carefully. If Alana hadn't wanted her pages dog-eared, she should have brought him a bookmark of some kind.

He wished he had something better than a pair of hospital socks with rubber grippies on the bottom, but a man made do with what he had and so he walked down the hall, heading towards the visitation area.

Hannibal stood out like a sore thumb in the space, but it did make it easier to head straight at the table where he was seated patiently. "Good afternoon, Will. I was a little worried that I might not make it past the doors to see you."

That might have been a worry if he had considered it. Jack was enough of a dick that he might have managed to make visitations impossible.

"Jack has been in fine form." He grimaced, and sat down slowly across from the man. "And not in any way that I might consider useful."

That hum said so many things, but it did at least leave him in his own head. That was something, surely? "Yes. He has been quite difficult. In fact, he called the Virginia Board of Psychology to complain of our... relationship. I spent some amount of time explaining that you and I have never seen one another in a professional capacity."

"I thought you were liscensed in Maryland." Given that he'd picked Hannibal up in a bar, they had pretty solid plausible deniability there.

That demure smile was utterly charming. He shouldn't enjoy it nearly so much. "Well. There is that, of course. Still, he will undoubtedlly have called the Maryland board as well, and so I will have my defense prepared when the time comes." He paused and leaned in slightly, head tilted to the side. "And how are you feeling, dear WIll?"

"Like I shouldn't be here right now. I'm not in crisis." He rubbed fingers at the back of his neck, watching Hannibal carefully. "I just want to go home."

The rise of those eyebrows said Things. "You do not seem entirely yourself, either. Of course, we have a different way of looking at things than others. Jack Crawford, for instance." Hannibal shifted. "Do you think that you might have better luck being allowed to leave if you had someone with whom you could stay? I understand that it perhaps isn't entirely what you wanted...."

"I broke down at a scene, and tried to hide under my car. I... Am having trouble distinguishing what's real." Will could feel his jaw tighten. "If you're, you have a practice, and I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense. You are... if not my friend, then someone in whom I have a legitimate interest, to say the least. You and I, we are perhaps more compatible than anyone else I have ever met. I would like to continue our current association, and in order for that to happen, I very much prefer that you be able to distinguish between reality and the work Jack Crawford expects you to do." Hannibal paused. "And I am more than willing to do whatever is necessary to facilitate that."

"All right." He focused, eyes settling on Hannibal's mouth, cheekbones, the edges of his face because he didn't want to find pity in his eyes. "Thank you."

That smile didn't seem pitying. "If it gets you firmly in my clutches, I certainly think that I should be thanking you."

He laughed, because it seemed the right response. As if Will had been *elusive* before, or anything other than entirely willing to go along with Hannibal's suggestions. "We'll see if you're saying the same thing in a week."

"Or perhaps if you are."   The flirtation of it was exquisite, just the right side of subtle-but-not-really for Will to appreciate it. "I expect that you would do well with a stable home environment. Beyond your dogs, that is." Hannibal paused. "Alana and I are taking turns feeding them. If you like, I expect I have room for them. Perhaps not all inside at the same time."

"They're extremely well-trained." And that was an unexpected offer. "Thank you. They get weird about kenneling, even at the nice places."

Hannibal's nod was easy, a bare tilt of his head followed by a rise of the same. "Of course. That way, I am lucky enough to have gained your presence."

Or something like that, anyway.

It was awkward to keep thanking him, and nothing they talked about in his office seemed... appropriate for their surroundings. The deeper psychologies of criminals were problematic when there was someone sitting two feet away making noises. It was hard not to catch Hannibal's eyes when there was so much he was trying not to look at. "That's good. I'm close to trying to steal a spoon to dig my way out."

"I do not think you would make it far. It appears that most of them are plastic. Possibly also sporks." The fact that he could say this with a straight face made him all the more interesting.

Also, entertaining.

"Any better ideas?" He might as well make the most of the time he had with visitors, and if he could stay focused on something that was just. Casual and easy. No stress. Hannibal's calm demeanor.

"Perhaps you should consider that you are here for rightful reasons. Crawling beneath a car is not exactly a reaction most people expect." It was a gentle enough suggestion. "Are you sure that you feel entirely well enough to leave?"

"They're not doing much more here than leaving me in a quiet room all day. It's not..."   He waved a hand slightly. "And I don't respond well to anti-psychotics. They make me groggy."

Hannibal nodded. "I think they make most people groggy. So. If you will agree to take the medications you are given, then I think you will be allowed to go home with myself or Alana. While I doubt that they feel entirely confident in my abilities following Jack Crawford's... interesting statements, I suspect they will perhaps respect Dr. Bloom's ability to adjust the medications as necessary."

"I'll start seeing Alana if I have to." And he needed to talk to Jack, he needed to have words with Jack, because the man wasn't his father even if he wanted to act like it.

"You know that neither of us want to be your therapist, for... if not the same reason, at least similar ones." He watched Will closely. "So, perhaps we will make other arrangements. If necessary. I hope that they will not be."

"Whatever I have to do to get out of here. I just, I need to stay away from work for a while. That's all." And teach, he could teach his classes when the next class started in a month, and that would be better.

"Entirely away from work," Hannibal agreed. "Perhaps it would be best if we did not advertise your location. It will be more likely that Jack Crawford won't try to call on you."

Or he could tell Jack, knowing that the mere mention of Hannibal might keep him away. It was fifty fifty. "He'll be concerned  if he doesn't know where I am."

  Hannibal nodded. "Yes. I suppose."

There was nothing to suppose about it. It was simply fact.

"Then, that actually sounds like a plan." It would just take a couple of days to come to fruition. He could hang in there. "And this is... probably not highly entertaining for you."

It was a surprise when Hannibal reached out, caught his wrist. His fingers rubbed at the bone there, slow and gentle, and it was almost his undoing. "I wouldn't make the offer if I did not mean exactly what I said."

He closed his eyes, and relaxed a little, stretched his legs slowly. The slow pressure of skin against his was relaxing. "Mm. I want to go home with you right now."

Right now, this moment, and he knew that wasn't happening. Knew, but he wanted it so much. Wanted to leave more than anything. "Monday," Hannibal murmured. "But yes. Then."

It was a reason to continue feigning that he was on an even keel. He needed to just keep focused on small things, on, on things he could keep under his control, and suddenly his wrist hurt. Binding compression, fingers squeezing, and those strange sherry-dark eyes were tight on his face, concentrating.

"And Monday," Hannibal finally murmured, "you will come home with me. And we will see what we can do."


End file.
